storm warnings - ialwbty au
masterlist
pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader
summary: somehow, someway, you come back. instead of the beaches of camp halfblood, however, you wake up on the princess andromeda.
a/n: what is this??? hurricastellan posting after months away???? i havent even watched s2 of the show but ive been talking about them again with you guys and it got the gears rolling in my head. i was making lunch the other day and had the thought "what if hurricane woke up on the princess andromeda instead" and have not stopped writing since lol. they drive me crazy and i really like how this turned out so i hope you all enjoy!
wc: 5k
warning(s): luke has jackieshauna-type hurricane visions; canon typical violence; kinda mean luke; the usual angst
It’s a quiet night—rare for the sea.
Out here, the sky is a tapestry of constellations. They shine valiantly through the darkness, unaware of who they’re lending their guiding light to.
The sky doesn’t care for the lives of mortals, though it may illuminate their paths. Where the sea punishes the foolish, the naive, the unlucky, the sky simply is. The sky worries not of the young warrior’s destined folly. The sea helps him along to his doom.
On this particular night, Luke Castellan certainly feels like he’s being led to his doom.
It’s colder than usual, but he barely feels it. Even if he did, he wouldn’t find it in himself to care.
Luke would follow him to the death, but he can admit Kronos is a cruel master. It varies in intensity depending on the day or the army’s performance or the direction of the wind; perhaps how the Titan Lord is able to keep such numbers. General awfulness doesn’t feel all that bad when the week before your buddy got turned to dust.
Every day, though, it gets a little harder for Luke to breathe. When he’s out here, sometimes it’s better—sometimes it’s much, much worse. Today, it just is.
There’s no escape from you for Luke, even on his better days. You make up whatever good remains in him, and most of his jagged edges formed after he lost you and got torn in two.
You’re always around for Luke. You’re in the curve of tree branches, the early morning ocean mist, every kid in his command that looks at him with the genuine hope for a better future. You’re the voice of his conscience, the face of his biggest fear, the poker stoking his rage—the kindling that fuels it.
It’s no wonder Luke ends out here more nights than not. It’s the only place his mind goes silent—when he stares out at your father’s domain, the closest and farthest from you he’s ever been.
He stares out at your father’s domain and remembers he did nothing to save you. He’s a god with all the power in the world and he just let you die.
When Luke looks over, he sees you leaning against the side of the railing, arms crossed and a serene expression on your face. Your sundress falls just above your knees, hair perfectly braided save for a few loose strands.
The waves, quiet just moments ago, begin to grow angrier. Sea foam sprays against Luke’s face as it batters the side of the ship.
“Hurricane,” he whispers.
“Oh, the storm’s not that bad,” you say. “It’ll pass.”
Your hair blows in the wind. The ship rocks as waves crash into the hull, but you don’t stumble like Luke does. You smile.
“Shouldn’t you have your sea legs by now?”
“It’s not fair,” Luke says. “Every time you show up, you bring a storm.”
“Not every time.”
“Most times.”
You tip a shoulder. “Who can blame me? It’s not like I got to use my powers much while I was alive.”
Luke grimaces, and you give him a look.
“Come on. I’m dead. I’m allowed to talk about it.”
“It’s not that,” he says. “It’s just…”
“I acknowledge I’m dead, you have to acknowledge I’m not real and you’re crazy?”
He grimaces again.
“Sorry.”
“You’re right, though.” Luke rubs his thumb against the lacquered wood railing. “They all think I’m crazy.”
“You do see me every night.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“It’s you.”
You go silent. Luke shakes his head, looking up at the darkened sky. Cumulonimbus clouds hang like a threat above him. “I won’t be surprised if I have to crush a coup in the next few weeks.”
“You’re important enough for a coup?”
“I’m the leader of the Titan Lord’s army,” Luke says. “I’m the one he’s trusting to carry out his plan for
this world. A lot of monsters don’t like that.”
“That’s politics,” you scoff. “This is war. Your voice is the only one that matters.”
Luke looks at you more closely. By now, your sundress has started to stain with blood. Red spots spider across the fabric in the shape of claw marks. Your skin takes on the usual pallor. A stronger gust of wind blows your hair up for a moment, and he sees the anchor stud earrings he bought you on your fifteenth birthday.
“I didn’t know you were so well versed,” he responds.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” you say simply. “Never let them forget it.”
You turn around and rest your arms on the railing, staring up at the night sky. Luke doesn’t look away.
Your skin is sickly. Your fatal wound has fully materialized, leaving half your sundress in bloody tatters. You glow in the moonlight, wholly ethereal—like if he reached out and touched you, you’d be nothing more than mist.
Kronos can give him everything in the world but you.
The first flash of lightning hits, followed by a crack of thunder. Seconds later, rain starts beating against the deck. Luke already feels it soaking into his clothes.
“Why does it always have to end like this?” he asks quietly.
“That’s just the way our story goes,” you say.
The sky opens up even further and Luke squeezes his eyes shut as he wipes water off his face. When he pulls his arm away, blinking away tears and rain, he’s alone.
Luke stumbles back from the railing. He runs a shaky hand through his curls, dripping with rain. He gets that funny feeling in his chest again. Thunder rolls across the horizon once again. By now, he’s completely soaked through.
You bring the storm with you, and then you leave him alone to deal with it.
He takes a few more staggered steps back, then turns and makes for the inside. He wipes his face as dry as he can on the way, tries to piece himself back together into the leader everyone expects.
At least when it rains, no one can tell.
-
Everything is too much when you wake up.
Your eyes fight the whole time they’re opening, squinting each time the slightest glimpse of light makes it to your irises. Heavy boots pound against the floorboards and your skull with each step. One of those boots kicks at your side and you groan—it makes you realize your whole body aches with a dull, incessant pain.
“Holy shit,” someone above you says. “She’s alive.”
“Of course she’s alive,” another hisses. “She’s breathing.”
“Well, dead things wash up on ships more commonly.”
“Things don’t wash up on cruise ships,” a third one snaps.
“I don’t know,” the first voice says. He sounds too young to be an adult. “The storm last night was so bad, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a whale here.”
“If she washed up, why is she completely dry?” the second one questions. “How is she alive, more like? No one could survive a storm like that in the ocean.”
“True,” the boy says. “She would’ve drowned ten times over.”
Your eyes are finally able to open all the way, though you still squint from the sun. A teenage boy, a snake lady, and some… thing covered in spikes stand over you talking. It takes a second to understand what you’re seeing—but when it registered, you have to bite back a scream. They notice, and they all start talking at once.
“What are you doing here?” the snake lady hisses.
“Who are you?” the boy asks.
“How did you not drown ten times over?” the spiky one questions.
You blink up at them, then shoot to your feet and run.
You nearly collapse after your first step, the dull ache in your body flaring to life. The strappy sandals and sundress you’re wearing don’t help either, but you push through it all. The teenager shouts “hey!” and you hear them make chase. You don’t know where the hell you are and you don’t know who the hell you are, but some innate sense inside you is screaming to get out.
It’s hard to do that when your body is already screaming at you with every step to stop. Your heart beats like a jackhammer in your chest, especially when you look over your shoulder and see the trio gaining on you.
You choose the wrong moment to vet the distance, though. Your foot catches on something, and you crash to the ground.
Your head bangs against the lacquered flooring and your vision blurs with the impact. The boy grabs your arms, hauling you up to your knees. You catch sight of the rope looped around your ankle, and you bite back a curse.
“Who are you people?” you demand.
The snake lady holds the point of her spear to the hollow of your throat. “We asked you first.”
“You’re the one attacking me,” you spit. “I think that warrants some answers.”
“You’re the one that ran,” the boy says. “How are we supposed to take that?”
“Like I want to know who you all are!” you exclaim.
The snake lady rolls her eyes and looks at the spiky monster. “Go let him know we found another one.”
“He said—”
“I know what he said.”
“Fine,” he relents. “It’s your head.”
The instant it’s just the two of you, you reel your head back into the teenager’s nose. He curses and his grip on you loosens, but the second you make to break for it again, you feel cold steel against your throat.
The snake lady presses the sharp spear point into your skin, just enough to draw blood—just enough to freeze you in place.
“One more time,” she hisses. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulls the spear from your throat to jab you in the chest with the wooden hilt. You groan and double over, and she lifts your chin with the metal spearhead.
“Let’s try that again,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” you grind out again. “I woke up here. I don’t remember anything else.”
“Lies!” she yells. “You stink of Olympus. Are you a godling spy? A camp reject?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know!”
“Be that way,” she snarls. “I’m sure Luke can make you squeal.”
That name gives you pause. It’s maybe the only thing that has actually registered in your mind rather than bouncing off.
“Who?”
“Our leader,” the boy says. He glares daggers at you over the hand he has cupping the broken nose you gave him. “I hope he pays it forward.”
By now, a loose crowd has gathered around you. It’s a mixture of monsters and humans, but it strikes you that all of the humans are teenagers or younger—and they’re all armed.
You have to get out of here.
The thought hits you wild and loud, and you start bucking like a bat out of hell. You have to get out of here—away from these monsters and teenagers with a cause strong enough to make them murderous.
You have nothing in your head, not even your own name, but you fight like a natural. You bob and weave and throw a surprisingly strong left hook. You narrowly avoid a spear to your chest, but get rocked in the head when you pivot by a punch. You feel a ring slice through your eyebrow before you’re wrenched back at the arms once again.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The voice is oddly familiar to your broken mind, but you don’t focus on it—you’re too busy fighting like a bat out of hell against your captors. Arms and legs thrashing in every possible direction, trying to break free from their hold.
A monster, sure it can subdue you, gets just a bit too close, and you slam your foot into its chest. It stumbles away groaning, but Broken Nose Boy strikes your skull with the pommel of his blade. Your legs give out beneath you as your head snaps to the side, knees just barely brushing the ground thanks to the tight grip Snake Lady and BNB have on your arms. Your strength wanes as you wheeze for air. The ship deck blurs beneath you, and you feel a drop of sweat trickle down your forehead.
“We caught her sneaking around the ship,” the snake lady holding your right side hisses. Her sharp nails dig into your skin, enough to draw blood with the threat of more.
“I’m getting real sick of mysterious demigods washing onboard,” the voice says. This must be the leader for them to stop when questioned. “Isn’t that what I have guards for? To ensure we travel in privacy?”
The monsters grumble something amongst yourself, and the man steps forward. You lift your head, vision still dim at the edges, and see that he’s not a man at all—he’s a teenager. He doesn’t notice he has your attention, still ranting at his monstrous militia.
“Kronos gave me a mission, and I chose all of you to help me enact his plan. The Titan Lord does not accept failure—as his voice on this mortal plane, why should I?”
“We caught her,” the spiky thing from earlier growls, “didn’t we? She’s one of those camp freaks. You can use her to find out whatever they’re planning.”
He rolls his eyes as he squats down to be at your level. He pinches your chin between his fingers and lifts your head, forcing you to look at him—but when you do, his dark eyes fill with a haunted recognition.
They widen so much they could pop out of their sockets. What you can tell is normally tanned skin has paled. The scar running down the side of his face distorts with his shock, and his grip on your chin almost completely loosens.
He whispers your name in quiet disbelief. He looks at you like you’re a ghost.
Broken Nose Boy’s grip slackens on your arm. “Luke, this is her?”
Luke.
The name only barely registers in your shattered brain, but to him, the sight of you clearly means everything.
How does he know your name when you’re barely even sure of it? How do you recognize his name when you don’t even know your own?
You refuse to look away. You throw him off somehow, and in enemy territory, you have to use whatever is at your disposal.
Silence stretches on long enough to become uncomfortable as you stare at each other—your gaze determined steel, his barely restrained mania. He breaks first, directing his attention at those holding you still.
“Let her go,” he says, though there’s clearly still a haze over him. “We need to talk.”
Broken Nose Boy fully lets you go, but Snake Lady doesn’t. Luke’s eyes harden.
“Let her go,” he snaps. “Unless you’d like to lose that head of yours?”
“She’s with them,” she bites. “Your softness is blinding you.”
You barely see Luke move, only the glint of a blade before you feel her grip loosen, then let go completely. You bite down hard on the scream that rises in your throat when you see the monster’s headless body fall to the ground, reptilian legs curling for just a moment before they freeze.
“Does anyone else want to try anything?” Luke asks, voice scarily even.
He gets no response. All you can do is stare at him.
When Luke finally looks back at you, his eyes soften, and he falters for a moment as he says your name.
He shoves his sword back into its sheath and offers his hand to you, but you can’t find the words. You hardly hear his own over the ringing in your ears.
Luke clearly recognizes you, and you have a nagging feeling that you know him too—but no matter how far you run, the memory is just out of reach. You have no idea who this boy is, just that he’s someone dangerous.
But he knows you. He’s already killed for you. The glint in his eye tells you he won’t hesitate to do it again.
You take his hand and he pulls you to your feet. He stares down at your intertwined hands and you see his throat bob. You feel his thundering pulse where your fingers brush his wrist.
He pulls away before you can say anything. A muscle works in his jaw.
“Come with me,” he says, and then he starts walking.
You glance back at his soldiers. The boy looks terrified, and the snake woman who disobeyed Luke is nothing but yellow dust.
You swallow bile and hurry to catch up.
Luke moves with quick but disjointed strides. He had the easy confidence of a leader when he first approached you, but now he seems unsure, off-guard. You’re a bit slower than him, and you notice he adjusts his gait to keep pace with you.
Oddly kind for someone that just killed one of his soldiers in cold blood. (Too observant for your liking.)
“That was quite the display,” you say. You hope he doesn’t catch the slight wobble in your words.
“It’s insurance to make sure they leave you alone,” he says. “Most of them want to kill you.”
“I gathered that.” There’s still blood dripping down your arm from the snake lady’s claws, you’re going to have a black eye in an hour, and your eyebrow is fully sliced open. “But why? They don’t even know me.”
Luke scoffs. “What kind of question is that? You know why.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” you retort. “I— I don’t know much of anything right now, if you can’t tell. I don’t even know who you are.”
You nearly bump into him when he suddenly stops in his tracks. He hides his disbelief this time, but his jaw is clenched so tight you think his teeth might crack.
He’s so obviously searching for something when he looks at you, but you don’t know what. What he can’t hide is the glimmer in his eyes, the telltale sign of tears he’s trying so hard to fight.
You don’t understand why it makes you feel so nauseous.
“You don’t?”
His voice is too fragile for what you just watched him do—to have the kind of scar cutting down the side of his face that no one earns through pacifism.
You open your mouth and no words come out. Your chest twists with the sudden urge to comfort him. A memory flashes through your broken mind too quickly to pin down.
“No,” you finally manage. “All I know is I woke up on this ship. The rest is just… darkness.”
Luke shakes his head with a mirthless laugh. He starts walking without warning, and it takes a few beats for you to catch up.
“It’s a trick,” you hear him murmur beneath his breath. “It’s gotta be a trick.”
Eventually, you reach a room. Luke holds the door open for you, but you pause before you enter and meet his eyes.
“Listen—”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he interrupts, and then he stops. His grip tightens on the door. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Of course I am,” you say faintly. “You just killed someone in front of me.”
“Monsters don’t die,” Luke says. “She’s regenerating in Tartarus as we speak.”
Your brows crease. He says it like you should know what it means.
He shakes his head with a sigh. “Just go inside.”
You glance back at the empty hallway. You’re outside some kind of office, and you went down a few too many flights of stairs.
You’re in no state to run. Even if someone can hear you scream, they won’t care. He just killed someone in front of you.
(He just killed a monster to protect you, a voice in your head says. And his name is the only goddamn thing that registers in your brain.)
You walk inside. He closes the door behind you.
It’s his office, you realize pretty quickly. He has pictures on the wall beside a desk with a big map and a boatload of files. Luke gestures at the loveseat awkwardly shoved in the corner, and both of you sit.
Your spine is ramrod straight. Luke acts like he’s casual—an arm lightly wrapped against the back of the couch, posture relaxed, legs crossed at the ankles—but it’s clearly just that: an act.
“So you’re Luke,” you say.
He flinches when you say his name, and your throat closes up. Luke tries once again to cover it up as he nods.
“I am. And you are?”
You glance away as you wrap your arms around your midsection.
“I have no idea.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“No name?”
“No.”
“No age?”
“No.”
“No godl—”
“What part of ‘the rest is darkness do you not understand?” you interrupt. Luke falls silent. “I don’t know anything! I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know who you are, I don’t even know my own name. I woke up on this ship cold and confused and alone, and since then I’ve been kicked and beaten and stabbed and sliced. I don’t even remember my own goddamn name—”
Your voice breaks on the last word, and it snaps you out of whatever trance you’d entered. You realize you’ve moved closer in said trance—you’re inches from Luke, so close you can smell his cologne. Another thing that feels oddly familiar; the lyrics of a song you learned as a child.
“So are you going to help me?” you ask more than a little desperately. “Or are you just going to be one more person that tries to kill me?”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t waver. His pupils are blown, and he clenches his jaw hard to hold back whatever emotions want to break free. You put some distance between you and his throat bobs.
“Yeah,” Luke finally says, his voice raspy. “Yeah. I can help you.”
Some of the tension in your shoulders finally dissolves, and his lips quirk at the edges ever so slightly.
“But you’re bleeding all over the place,” he says. “Let me patch you up first.”
“Can you help me while you’re patching me up?”
“Patching you up is helping you.”
You huff. “You know what I mean.”
A bit more of a smile. “Yeah.”
Luke gathers some medical supplies, and soon enough he’s cleaning out your arm. You wince every time the alcohol wipe touches the wound, but he works at a steady pace.
“That’s a nice dress,” he eventually says.
“Thanks. I woke up in it.”
Luke shakes his head with a sigh. “That’s really what happened? You just woke up here with amnesia?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” you say. “But just imagine how it feels.”
He lets out a dry laugh.
“You don’t even know the half of it.”
He continues to work in silence for a while. Luke is good at this, too good for a teenager. You barely feel the needle as he sews up the lacerations. His touch is even soft as he wipes the dried blood off your arm.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“Much better,” you say. “You’re good at this.”
“I have a lot of practice,” he says. “And a lot of it was this exact same scenario, believe it or not.”
“Stitching people up after monster attacks?”
“Stitching you up after monster attacks.”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
“Hold still,” he says instead. Before you can respond, he’s dabbing at the cut across your eyebrow, with one hand beneath your chin for balance.
Your breath catches in your throat. You should tell him to let go, but his touch is so unexpectedly gentle that the words die on your tongue.
For a split second, you’re not in the office. You’re sitting on the sink in a shitty rest stop bathroom, laughing through your grimaces as Luke stitches up a gnarly gash on your shoulder.
“Your jokes hurt more than your stitching.”
“Oh, please. My jokes have never made you bleed.”
“Yet.”
“You laughed at them!”
“Out of pity!”
“Then I guess I’m only stitching you up out of pity.”
“In your dreams, Castellan.”
“Every night.”
The memory is gone as soon as it appears—and that’s when you realize.
A memory.
You suddenly wrench out of Luke’s grasp and twist so you can see your shoulder. A jagged, slightly raised scar runs down your skin in the exact same place.
“Oh my god,” you breathe.
“What?”
Luke genuinely sounds concerned—when you look back at him, you see the same dark eyes as the fleeting memory.
“I know you,” you rasp. “You— you know me.”
He pauses, clearly trying to figure out how to respond to that. He never breaks eye contact, even when he slowly nods.
“Yes.”
“How?” you question. “Who are you? Who am I?”
“One thing at a time,” Luke says.
“Fine. Who am I?”
He says the same name as before, and it settles more comfortably against your skin this time.
Your name. You repeat it in your head like a mantra—you have one piece of yourself, at least.
“You’re like me,” he continues. “And we’re not like other people.”
Your eyebrows rise. “And what does that mean?”
“We’re halfbloods,” he says. “Half mortal, half god.”
You laugh, short and dry. “I don’t feel very godlike right now.”
“That’s par for the course, unfortunately.”
He doesn’t give any indication he’s joking, which makes you worry that he’s actually not joking.
“You’re serious?”
Luke nods. “The Greek gods are real, and they’re our parents.”
“That makes no sense,” you insist.
“You woke up on a cruise ship with amnesia surrounded by monsters,” he says. “You’re not really in a position to be doubting things.”
Unfortunately true. “Who’s your parent, then?”
“My dear old dad is Hermes, messenger of the gods.” He says it with simmering disdain. “He’s a big reason I’m here.”
“What’s that?”
Luke holds your gaze for a long moment before he finally speaks.
“Justice.”
It sends shivers down your spine. Suddenly, you’re very cold in your sundress and sandals. You wish past you had worn something a little better before you decided to go on a cruise ship of monsters.
Luke is shedding his jacket before you can even say anything. He holds it out to you.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“You’re cold.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to—”
“Please just take it, Hurricane.”
You frown, and Luke freezes.
“Hurricane?”
He holds the jacket out further and you finally relent with a sigh.
“It was your nickname when you were…” He stops and shakes his head. “It was my nickname for you.”
“We were close enough for nicknames?”
“You could say that.”
“Did I have one for you?”
He nods.
“...Are you gonna tell me?”
Luke presses his lips together, then lets out a deep sigh.
“Sometimes—”
Before he can get any further, there’s a knock on the door. The softness in his eyes sharpens immediately as he stands—he almost looks like an entirely different person by the time he cracks open the door.
“I’m busy,” he snaps.
“I understand, sir, but this is important. Something is wrong with the sarcophagus.”
You see his grip tighten on the door.
“What?”
“Some of the tourists have been fainting when they go too close to your cabin,” he says. “I— I don’t know what it means, but one of the Laistrygonians said I should tell you.”
Luke growls, and you think his fingers might actually dig into the wood he’s holding it so tightly.
“Keep any mortals away from the floor,” he says. “I don’t know how much the Mist can hide when it comes to his presence.”
“Of course.”
He goes back into the room and starts gathering a few things, giving you a glimpse of the boy on the other side. When he spots you, his eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” he blurts out. “You’re alive.”
Hearing that once is a good thing. Hearing it twice is a bit concerning.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” Luke snaps as he turns around.
“Yes, sir,” he stammers. “I— I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be sorry, go do it. And don’t tell anyone she’s here unless you want to go for a nice swim.”
The boy nods far too many times. His eyes dart back at you one last hurried time before he turns and scurries off.
Luke sighs and runs a hand through his curls, casually turning back to you like he didn’t just threaten to kill that boy for looking at you.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You didn’t need to see that.”
“Do you make a habit out of threatening little kids?” you ask.
“Only when I need to.” He doesn’t say it with the humor you expect—another thing to add to the growing list of concerns. Having a growing list of concerns should be added to it as well.
“I need to be extra rough with them when it comes to you,” he explains. “They don’t think you’re on my side.”
“What other side is there?” you ask.
Luke has a habit of long, brooding silences around you, it turns out. You think he’s trying to work around your broken memory, and it makes you wonder what he’s hiding from you.
“The side of the gods,” he finally settles on. “And considering they’re the reason for everything you went through, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
That only creates a thousand more questions, but Luke is already halfway out the door.
“Don’t go anywhere. These monsters are always hungry for demigod blood, and I can’t protect you if I’m not with you. I’ll bring some food for you on my way back.”
“And some warmer clothes, please,” you add. “If you have them, I mean.”
Luke nods, and he slings his backpack over his shoulder. He’s about to leave when you blurt something out:
“Why do these people seem so surprised that I’m alive?”
His throat bobs when he stops, halfway out the door.
“I’ll explain it all to you soon,” he says.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He doesn’t look away until you nod.
“Okay,” you say faintly. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Luke nods. Seconds ago, he was the threatening image of authority. Now, you think a stiff breeze would make him keel over—or another question from you.
"See you soon," he murmurs.
He closes the door gently behind him.